


Telephone.

by captnalbatr0ss



Series: The Captain and his Quartermaster [13]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnalbatr0ss/pseuds/captnalbatr0ss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam Drake and Harry Flynn are best mates. | A quick phone call about Panama and Rafe Adler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telephone.

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr sentence prompt — “If he’s going to treat you like shit I’m going to kick his ass.”

* * *

Sam leaned back in his recliner, shifting the phone between hands, stretching his legs out in front of him. He'd been on the phone for over an hour—but then again, calls between Sam and Harry were always one of two things—impossibly short, or unnecessarily long. It was just their way.

Sam checked his watch, tucked his phone against his ear and held it there with his shoulder. He'd meant to watch the time, the phone call was very much long distance, but he'd lost track. _Typical_.

_Eh,_ Sam thought. _After everything else, a few extra bucks on a phone call'll probably go unnoticed anyways._

“If he’s going to treat you like shit I’m going to kick his ass.”

“What? No—it’s not like that. It’s…” Sam frowned, searching for the right words, coming up short. “Complicated.”

He'd done his best to explain Panama; the prison, the tower, their plan—Harry was no stranger to Sam and Nathan's hunt for Avery's treasure. They'd even once tossed around the idea of teaming up, but Harry was busy with other jobs, and between the three of them they'd still come up short on the money to make it happen.

But now they had Rafe—and Sam hadn't stopped making a case for the man since he'd come on board. Between Nathan and Harry, Sam felt himself in a constant state of reassuring them that not only was Rafe necessary, he wasn't really so bad.

What he hadn't said, not to either of them, and only recently to himself, was how quickly he'd become attached to Rafe.

Unexpectedly. Alarmingly.

It had been so small at first, and Sam was sure he'd been the only one to really feel it—the tension between them. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but certainly impossible for Sam to ignore. A spark, just a little  _something_. And then, after a day spent with Rafe making arrangements, discussing plans, and having drinks, a kiss. Simple, abrupt, and brief. But it was enough—the spark ignited. Unlike anything Sam had felt before. That was the first night Sam took Rafe to bed, and he'd done the same nearly every night since—and Sam had yet to stop falling. 

“Complicated? Not sure I’d soften the blow quite that much, mate. I know you think you need his money, but it sounds like he’s a shite partner. C'mon, Sammy boy, you—”

Sam heard footsteps, saw his doorknob turning.

“Shut up for a second.” Sam muted the phone, discarded it hastily, face down, on the bed.

“Rafe, hey—” Sam sat up when Rafe entered the room. “You, ah, have any luck with those leads on Panama?”

“No.” Rafe was scowling, but when Sam patted the spot next to him on the bed, Rafe joined him. “Just more running in circles.” Rafe curled against Sam, letting the pressure of Sam’s arm around him, his body against him, gradually ease his temper.

“Well, good riddance then. We’ll catch a break. Hey,” he leaned down, prompting Rafe to look up at him. “You know we’re gonna get in, don’t ya?”

Rafe considered the question for a moment, and then shrugged. “I used to think so, but now I’m not so sure. It should’ve been easy. I had the guy, and then the asshole got cold feet—”

“Come here.” Sam pulled the younger man closer, pressed his lips to Rafe’s sweetly.

Rafe sighed, let his fingers trail through Sam’s hair as they kissed. And when Rafe gave a little tug, moved both hands to Sam's shoulders, and straddled Sam’s hips, the older man groaned.

Rafe leaned down, and Sam opened up for him even before their lips met. He wrapped his arms around Rafe's small frame, breath hitching in his chest when Rafe rolled his hips.

"Fuck, baby—" Sam nipped at Rafe's bottom lip, gratified at the low moan that followed.

“Rafe, ah…” Sam was managing words between kisses, his hands slipping under Rafe’s shirt. “You wanna—”

But then Rafe’s phone buzzed, and Sam’s eyes fell to his own, still face down. Shit, he’d almost forgotten—

“Oh, now what.” 

Rafe stood as he answered, his tone sharpened immediately. 

“Start talking. —What? Jesus, no. No, you tell that slimy bastard if he wants to play that game he can expect to hear from my lawyers. —no, I don’t give two fucks about propriety, he’s the one who instigated. Either he puts this horseshit to bed, or I will.”

Sam sat, watching as Rafe practically stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

It was so often like that—a moment of intimacy, Rafe seeking Sam out to calm him, or for affection. And then the sudden downturn. He was here, pliant, beautiful in Sam’s arms, and then he was a predator, ruthless and cold.

Sam frowned, grabbed his phone, prayed that Harry had hung up, but—

“You’re shagging him!”

—he hadn’t hung up.

Sam felt the color rise in his cheeks. “Jesus, Harry—”

“I shoulda known! I shoulda bloody well known. Does Nathan know? Ah, bet not, he’s such a dear—betcha he’s got no idea, ’m I right?” But Harry didn’t give Sam time to answer, and it was half-rhetorical anyway. “It makes so much sense now. You’ve got a hard on for the rich prick.”

“Hey, okay, but he’s not—” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever mate. I don’t care who you do. But I’ll say it again, I’ll kick his ass if he’s shite to ya.”

“Whatever.” Sam shook his head, but he chuckled. “How much longer is your thing?”

“Oh, this, ah… This tour’s almost up. In the thick of it now, I am.” 

Sam could just see that cocky grin.

“Well don’t get yourself killed, you still owe me drinks after last time.”

“Right you are. Listen, mate, two weeks and I’ll be headed home. You think you can drag yourself away from your new partner,” and Christ if Sam couldn’t practically hear him wink, “long enough to meet me in Whitehaven?”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”

“Or bring him along, then I can threaten him in person. Man to man.”

“Yeah, that won’t be happening.”

“Suit yourself, mate.”

Sam heard Harry holler something unintelligible, away from the phone.

“Gotta run. Give my love to Nathan, will ya?”

“Hmm, maybe kiss my ass, Flynn.”

“Ah, but it’s not _your_ arse I fancy, though, is it, mate? Cheers, ya tosser.”

Sam heard the phone click on Harry’s end, no goodbye, as was their custom. It was understood that they’d pick up where they left off the next time, and goodbyes felt like bad luck, anyway.


End file.
